Ace was listening and taking all of this shit in while at the same time looking back at the TV at the footage they were showing of the Arabs.
I tilted my shot glass, emptying it because it was definitely needed after hearing and seeing this shit on the news about these niggas trying to kill me.
Ace’s cell phone sounded off, which immediately got his attention.
“Yo, it’s that nigga D.C., cuz,” Ace said, looking at the caller ID. “He gave me that paper too, cuz. I’ll get it to you with the rest of the money,” he added before answering the phone. “What’s good, my nigga?”
“Ain’t shit, other than getting mines while trying to stay on top out here. What’s good with you, cuz?” D.C. asked.
“Hold on, nigga. He right here,” Ace said, tossing me the phone.
“What’s good, my nigga?”
“Living and trying to live better. I’m ready to change the game, you feel me?” D.C. said, referring to stepping his game up to the next level.
“Sounds good. You the third person today that’s inspired by the paperwork,” I said, meaning this getting-money shit.
“Oh yeah, they hungry out here, and I’m like the mission. My mission is to feed the streets.”
“Say no more. We can flip that original figure.”
“I can meet you halfway.”
“Carwash on 7th and Peffer Street.”
“I know where it’s at. I’m in motion toward the city now, so it won’t be long.”
“I’ll be there waiting. Don’t waste time with them bitches, nigga. We moving heavy.”
“I got it, Tommy Guns,” D.C. said with light laughter as he hung up.
I hung up and tossed the cell phone back to Ace.
“Yo, nigga, mount up. We got some business to take care of. We in your whip. I need you to take me over to my other whip after we grip the work.”
“I’m always ready, cuz,” Ace said, standing up with his glass and downing the double shot. “Now I’m really ready, cuz. That Henny put a nigga in that mind-set.”
We left the Bachelor Pad, jumping in Ace’s whip and heading to the stash spot. I called Big Ivan, so he could meet us uptown at the carwash. It was a must that family was there. We knew that no matter what, we would have each other’s back.
CHAPTER 10
WITHIN THE HOUR, THE bricks of raw were secured. Ace was already in route uptown checking out the carwash before I got there. If shit didn’t look right, I would know before I walked into a trap.
I jumped into my new all-custom chrome CL600 Mercedes Benz, with soft black leather seats, piped-in chrome features, and chrome dials on the dash and gearshift. It was all flowing with chrome 22-inch rims. My shit even had the black tint faded to mirror tint to give my whip the added balla features.
I started my shit up sounding good, plus the power of the V-12 under the hood made my shit even more official.
I slipped a DJ Ron Ski CD in my shit, holding him down. He was a true legend in the mix CD game. Rest in peace to my nigga right there.
Ski’s brother, Shawn B, came through the speakers with his hard, raspy voice spitting fire and pain in his lyrics. The beat was so hard that it put me in the business mind-set as I reloaded my Glock 40 before sitting that shit in my lap ready to get this paper.
As I took off heading uptown, that nigga D.C. was on I-83 coming across the bridge into the city. He was showing off in his whip passing cars as the BMW 760Li was gliding past each vehicle with ease. He was really feeling himself in the moment. That’s how this getting real money makes a nigga feel.
He turned off at the 2nd Street exit, catching all the green lights through the Downtown and Midtown area before making his way uptown. He came down 7th Street with his music bumpin’ loud with that classic B.I.G. Ready to Die album.
I was already parked in my whip responding to a text from Chica, the Spanish mami from Miami. She was feeling a nigga. I was also thinking that she was keeping tabs on me as her job. Turnpike Tito was that smooth yet intelligent type of businessman. Chica wanted to come up here to see how we do up north. I hit back on the text to let me handle this BI, and then I jumped out of my whip focused and ready to take care of business as usual.
Ace was inside the car wash spraying his whip down but staying on point.
Big Ivan was on his way. He got caught up with his wifey. The home front always came first no matter what.
D.C. parked three lanes over. He jumped out the same time I got out of my whip.
“My nigga, Tommy Guns, I see you doing it real big with the new whip,” D.C. said as he approached.
“My toy I had for a few weeks. It’s a good look, right?”
“I wish I had toys like this when I was growing up,” D.C. responded.
We both laughed at that shit, knowing how it is growing up in the hood.
“I see you keep it official with the bitches,” I said, after seeing this platinum-blonde-haired white bitch with a golden tan. I couldn’t see her eyes, because she was hiding them behind her D&G shades.
“I do them clubs real heavy, and this is what the outcome looks like.”
I wanted to cut through the small talk because I was sitting heavy, plus Ace seemed like he was getting impatient, either that or he was just as paranoid as I was at times.
“Grab ya paper, nigga, and I’ma get these squares for you,” I said, turning toward my whip. He did the same.
I popped the trunk with my remote, reaching for the bag of eight blocks. Any nigga in his right mind would be paranoid knowing the time he could get for this shit. On the flip side, knowing that a nigga out here is hungry like I am will lay a nigga down for this.
I was scanning the area looking up the street and then down the street around the carwash. There was no one in sight other than Ace, D.C., and his bitch, so I pulled the bag out of the trunk and made my way over to this nigga who was gripping the bag of money.
As I was extending the bag out for D.C. to grab, I heard the screeching of tires that seemed to come from out of nowhere. I turned quick only to see that it was a Ford Crown Victoria coming into the carwash, and fast. The only thing I could think of was that I had to get the fuck outta there.
I turned quickly and ran back to my whip. In the midst of me sprinting back to my Benz, a voice boomed through the air.
“Get down! Freeze! You’re under arrest!”
They had me. My reign at the top was over. This wasn’t the local police or state troopers. It was them boys at the FBI. They blocked in my whip, knowing they didn’t want to risk me taking them on a high-speed chase.
I turned around to face the commanding voice, only to see that it was this nigga D.C. and the white bitch pointing guns at me. For a split second it felt like a bad dream. This nigga right here is with them, I thought.
I’m still strapped with my Glock 40 on my waistline, thinking about laying this nigga out, even with the odds of being killed right here on the spot. That’s the level of betrayal I was feeling right now. The nigga that introduced me to D.C. was dead once I sent word out. It was simply a matter of time.
As he approached me, the bitch he was with had this look of happiness on her face. As for this nigga, he was smiling, which pissed me off even more.
“I got you, Tommy Guns. You’re under arrest.”
“Fuck you, you stupid muthafucka!”
The agents moved in and began to pat me down until Ace snapped up and unexpectedly fired off his MAC-11. The burst of slugs raced through the air violently, crashing into D.C. and the white bitch he was with.
She fell with a head shot. D.C. was hit in the leg and shoulder, which spun him, only to be hit from the side and puncture one of his lungs before dropping him beside his partner.
The agents handling me immediately took cover, not expecting what was happening. Shit, I dropped down so my little cousin could handle his business.
Big Ivan came just in time, seeing this shit unfold as it was. He didn’t hesitate to join the chaos, especially se
eing Ace being fired on by the agents.
He grabbed his riot pump out of the back seat before jumping out and placing the agents in the middle. At the same time, he caught them by surprise. Another problem they weren’t expecting.
I was looking at this nigga D.C. on the ground barely breathing. He was looking at me, too, but this nigga was smiling now. A sadistic smirk came across my face seeing the fear in this nigga’s eyes. He was scared of dying. That’s the difference between him and me. I know this shit comes with the territory.
I was pinned down by the gunfire from Ace and the Federal agents trying to keep him at bay. I started reaching discreetly for my Glock, obviously wanting to help my fam.
Big Ivan downed two agents with the brute force of the riot pump.
It was blood in and blood out with my cousins. They wouldn’t let me down, and I wasn’t going to let them down either.
The agents moved in, using tactical procedures to close in on Ace, while the other agents were radioing in for backup upon seeing that Big Ivan had them pinned down.
Ace dumped the whole thirty-three rounds before popping the clip out and flipping it around to the other clip that was duct taped to it, which allowed him to have a fast reload.
That shifted their attention from me, which was the third mistake they made today. I got up quick and closed my trunk with the bricks in it. I didn’t want to leave my cousins; besides, I wanted to get this bitch-ass nigga, D.C.
I first walked up and stood over the undercover female bitch, and then fired one off into her skull just to make sure she was dead. Then I squatted down to the barely breathing-ass nigga.
“You a stupid muthafucka! Thinking you can infiltrate me and my network. You thought shit was funny. How you feel now, nigga?”
I didn’t even give him a chance to plead his way out or infiltrate anyone else’s organization. I squeezed off a slug into the eyes that were staring back at me. Then I spit on the nigga as I stood up.
The sound of my gunfire alerted the other agents, who reacted fast, firing off and catching me with slugs. They were accurate, but they didn’t want me dead. They wanted me alive to stand trial.
Sirens could be heard approaching quickly. The Harrisburg police were coming fast. Helicopters were also approaching. It was probably the news crews.
Officers arrived shortly and forced Big Ivan to the ground, shooting him in the back. He was still trying to move and get off one more shot at the cop that shot him in the back. But they swarmed him fast and kicked the gun away.
Ace was still sending bursts of gunfire from his position, killing one of the Federal agents with an unforgiving headshot. That alone raised the level of fury for the agents as they moved in and cornered Ace.
“It ain’t sweet! Y’all think this shit is sweet? Let my cousin go, and I’ll let some of y’all live!” Ace yelled out, ready to die while holding me down.
He didn’t see Big Ivan drop. I did, which made me reach for the Glock that was thrown from my hand when they shot me. But they rushed in and shut that idea down.
I was feeling fucked up because I didn’t want Ace to go all out because they had us; and with all the backup that came and with the helicopters in the sky, we weren’t going to get away. An ambulance also came fast to tend to the wounded officers and Federal agents first. Me and Big Ivan were the last of their worries. Even though they wanted us alive, they knew our wounds weren’t life-threatening.
~ ~ ~
Ace’s cell phone sounded off and vibrated at the same time. This crazy little nigga took the call, seeing that it was from one of his bitches. He had his back up against the wall squatted down so his whip could protect him from oncoming gunfire.
“Candy! Candy! Shit is crazy right now. I’m not going make it tonight, baby girl.”
She already knew what was going on because the news choppers were showing everything live feed from the air.
“I can see y’all on the news right now. Don’t do anything stupid or get hurt.”
“I’m way past that point right now!” Ace said as he raised his gun up to fire again after hearing the agents moving in close.
The gunfire was loud coming through the cell phone and scared Candy even more. She was his ride-or-die white bitch. She also ran an escort service, so she had hoes too, and her own paper, but she loved my little cuz.
“Give yourself up, baby. You can’t win, especially from what I’m looking at. They’re closing in on you from every angle.”
Hearing this made him alert. Knowing they were closing in, he dropped the cell phone and jumped to his feet, turning the corner fast with gun in his hand and finger on the trigger. He was ready to squeeze, but no one was there. They were still behind the other corner, but the agents coming from the other direction were now behind Ace.
“Drop the weapon and get down!” they all sounded off.
Their level of adrenaline was running high. A split second was all it took to change the course of this attempted arrest.
Knowing Ace, he would try these muthafuckas. I couldn’t blame him. It beat rotting in a cell for the rest of your life.
He turned looking over his shoulder to see how many agents were there. There were five of them, with five guns aimed at him. He squatted down and placed the gun on the ground. Then he placed his hands behind his head and interlocked them.
The agents moved in fast, securing him and the weapon. Shit was crazy. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, with all three of us at the same time.
~ ~ ~
Fox News was reporting live, showing the footage of me and my cousins being tended to by the medics while they gave their views on what took place and what they had learned thus far.
“Tom ‘Tommy Guns’ Anderson, along with his cousins, held these officers and Federal agents at bay with gunfire until moments ago. A few agents have been murdered in this crossfire as well as a few wounded. This all derived from a drug arrest that went terribly wrong. Mr. Anderson is believed to be responsible for over 80 percent of the cocaine distribution throughout the central Pennsylvania area. A drug mastermind that has been undetected until his organization was infiltrated by one of the FBI’s own.”
The news reporter ran her mouth off on what she thought was going on. However, on the other side of the city, close to the suburbs, Rakman Hussein, a member of the Muslim Brotherhood, also a man known for terrorist acts of violence around the world, was watching the news. He was also the one driving the Bentley Flying Spur.
The six foot, 190-pound Saudi Arabian-born killer was only forty, and wore his facial hair closely trimmed with razor perfection. His appearance was very business-looking, with his black hair cut close on the sides and flowing with his facial hair.
He recognized my face on the news from seeing me at the Giants as well as at the warehouse when I was handling business with D.C.
He now had a name with the face. More importantly, he knew where I was going. He also knew that I was into getting this money.
He called up his cousin, Amir Hussein, the one that who was driving the Mercedes 65 Brabus. He picked up on the first ring, because he too, was watching the news and was preparing to call Rakman.
His Saudi accent was strong, but he spoke smoothly and calmly.
“This American from the warehouse is all over the news. Federal agents are everywhere. This is not a coincidence that we see him on the news—and twice in the same day as we did. These Americans cannot be trusted as you can be. We must have everything as planned. No flaws,” Rakman said.
Rakman and Amir were sleeper cells. Although Rakman was high ranking and rich, there was someone above him pulling the strings.
“I will take care of this as soon as possible. Everything will go as planned. Allah knows best. Allah u Akbar.”
“Allah u Akbar. As-salamu alaykum.”
“May peace be unto you, Rakman.”
CHAPTER 11
A FEW DAYS PASSED by and King Jose of New York was wondering what the fuck was going on with Tom
my Guns. He normally would have called or come to the city by now. Due to the fact that he didn’t trust many, he started thinking that Tommy was either dead or in jail. Either way, he wanted his money from the fifty bricks of raw he fronted him, which was a total of $750,000.
“This maricon no llamame en tres hoy!” King Jose snapped, thinking about his money. “It’s always something with them morenos!” he continued. “Oye esta ahora! We go to see this punta in his city!” he said to the team of Latino goons, who were all ready to kill to show their loyalty and respect.
As King Jose was preparing his team to make a move, down in Florida, the infamous Turnpike Tito was racing down the highway in his CL65 AMG Mercedes Benz with the top down to display the all-white interior.
He was loving the four-lane highway as he opened up, doing a little over 100 MPH while getting head from this sexy-ass, light-brown-skinned chick favoring a young Halle, with a tight workout body that allowed her jeans to hug every curve. Her head was going up and down smoothly, working her magic as he mashed the gas and speed-dialed Tommy Guns at the same time.
No answer. He called back, this time getting a busy signal. At first he didn’t think anything of it, but his instinct kicked in. This time he called Big Ivan’s phone. No answer. Busy signal. His mind started racing as the only thoughts came to mind. These morenos is dead or in jail.
“Mami, stop!” he said to her since he was no longer in the mood.
At the same time, he raced to the side of the highway, coming to an abrupt stop. He then jumped out of the car and dialed both of their numbers again, only to get the same signal that only meant bad news.
“Cono! Ahi Dios mio! This is not happening!” he snapped, pacing back and forth. “They don’t want this type of war! I’ll kill all of those puntas!” he said while staring at the screen of his phone as if he was dialing the wrong numbers, but he wasn’t, and he knew at that moment something needed to be done. “If he don’t have my money, then he has earned death!” he said.
He then became silent as thoughts were racing through his mind. He then made the much-needed phone call to all his associates below and above him, so they would know his next move. He jumped back into his car, allowing the sexy morena to work her lips again, and she did just that, bringing him some satisfaction after feeling the rage of anger streaming through his body.
All Eyez on Gunz Page 5